Oh, hello…

     I had a birthday last week. It wasn’t a huge milestone or anything, just a regular old birthday birthday. I’m normally a huge fan of my birthday. I remind people for weeks that “it’s my birthday soon, you know.” It’s obnoxious and unbecoming of anyone over the age of 9, really. But I believe that if I don’t get excited about my life then nobody else will so I just go nuts. I throw myself a party. I make myself cake. The works.
     When the anniversary of my entrance to this world from the waiting womb of life rolls around, I try to make it special. I wear something I feel really good in, I look for the Birthday Magic that happens on everybody’s birthday, I pull out this little ceramic curio I have of a birthday cupcake half eaten by a fat little mousie. One year I went to the casino and hardly spent anything but I got some cool swag because I kept mentioning my birthday. See? The Magic. It happens.
     The night before my birthday this year I had a bit of a meltdown. An explosion. I, ahem, “came unglued” as they say. Without going into much detail, and without inviting you to my pity party, let’s just say that most of my ranting involved repetition of the phrase, “THIS ISN’T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO TURN OUT!”
     I did manage to collect myself enough to go to work the next day and throw myself a pretty fun party the following weekend, but this general dis-ease has been following me around like an evil homunculus reminding me that things aren’t going as I had planned.
     I don’t think I’m “better” yet, and that’s probably why I haven’t posted in lo these long days. Birthday Magic can usually propel me to the next year and then some. But I lost my mojo this year.
So as not to end on a Debbie Downer note, I feel certain I shall find the lost mojo of the writing spider and do wonderful things forthwith.


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